


When the Shade Obscures the Sun

by Ms_Minty



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 04:52:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8735575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Minty/pseuds/Ms_Minty
Summary: Just a little dark tale of Cullen and a murderous love.





	

It was how she best remembered him. 

Golden, like a false idol, in the center of the training yard. He was in the middle of them all, standing tall even without his armor, in a loose jerkin. Easy smile, urging the recruits to come at him with everything they had, repelling them easily. Only beginning to sweat in the crisp mountain sunshine.

He was bright like the sun, too much light and heat, drawing the eye. He should have been the hero, the herald, not she. She was small, slight and moon-pale, with dark hair, always in the shadows, in the margins, just out of sight. She preferred it that way, but it was no way to be a hero, really. 

She knew what she was doing when she looked at him from beneath her lashes, her eyes were her only redeeming feature. She hadn't expected him to so ready to accept and return her advances, smile at her, a smile of brilliant sunshine. So bright, it made her shy all over again, sure that he was only joking, or that he would take advantage. Not ready for his sincerity, how true he was, down to his marrow.

When she saw him standing tall in the training yard, they had just kissed the day before, up on the ramparts, she on her tip-toes, his hand pressing into the small of her back, fisting in her hair. Every part of her on fire. She felt his sunshine fill her, and so she slunk back to the shadows, sure she would be exposed. As the troops trained she moved around them, a bare whisper of a person, practicing in her mind how she'd kill each one of them. It was part of her training, looking for the exposed tendon to slice, the throbbing veins, the eye. Her knives stayed on her belt, but she practiced their deaths anyway, felt them fall in front of her, still feeling like the villain of this tale.

But he had kissed her. Kissed her, nipped at her lips, and she was momentarily distracted, falling out of her well-practiced dance of death. She suddenly felt his eyes upon her, Cullen could see her. He was startled at her sudden appearance, but then smiled and she felt the heat again. She couldn't help but smile back, then escaped back into the shadows, slipping back up to the ridiculous splendor of her chambers. For a waif that grew up in a stable, the room seemed like a place she'd sneak into, steal something from, and then promptly leave. Not her own.

That moment in the sun is she'd always come back to, Cullen, outlined in golden light, laughing, training his recruits. She only realized later that it was also when she knew she could best him, that his jugular was also exposed, open to her perusal, inviting her blade.

When he pressed her back against the desk, she opened her lips to his, and returned his passion. She felt his muscles, her very own tame lion, mauling her, holding her down, making her his very own. Indeed, she would serve him her very heart on one of those fine bone porcelain plates that Josephine fed the Orleasians on. He was her first love, the finest man she had known. 

When she came back from the Abyss to find him missing, she was perplexed. Cassandra said he went mad, looking for her, and so she went to find him. When she found him, red crystals glinting around his eyes, his shoulders, her heart stopped. He was achingly beautiful, adorned with rubies, a glittering menace. But no longer hers. He wanted to get stronger, for her. To find her. 

Then her blade went into that very sweet spot, that hollow behind his clavicle, and she remembered that day in the sun, realized that was when she spotted it. She thought that she merely wanted to kiss it, and she did that day on his desk, and he gasped and thrust harder into her. As the blood gouted out around her blade, over her fingertips, strangely luminescent and stinking of red lyrium, she felt his life pour out, and her own heart died in her chest. 

He died, and her fingertips were stained with his blood, and when she moved them to close his eyelids, they left red streaks like war paint across his skin. Her beloved lion, now gone, overcome by her shade at last.


End file.
